


Cold Night Air

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, R plus L equals J, Reunion, show-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: A reunion in which Jon is the one to tell Sansa of his parentage.Mostly show-verse





	

The fire crackled merrily in the Mormont’s great hall. Servants brought out dishes of soups, potatoes, lamb, bread fresh from the oven. Sansa had to laugh at the size of Podrick’s eyes when he saw the lamb. In truth, Sansa was so hungry her mouth watered. The Mormonts insisted they keep eating, and Sansa, Brienne and Pod were happy to oblige.

Finally, when they had relaxed back into their chairs, sipping wine, Brienne spoke “Thank you for such fine fare. But if it please you, we’ve been many nights on the road, and would do well to rest.”

“Yes, of course, there’s much to discuss in the morning. Sleep well.” Maege Mormont was a great beast of a woman, but with a kind voice.

The three of them were climbing a flight of stairs when they heard the sounds of horses and men shouting. Sansa looked to Brienne. Brienne told her “Go, and rest. I’ll see what’s what.”

A weathered serving woman showed Sansa to her room. There was a bed piled with furs, a fire, a small table and chairs, a pitcher of water and basin. Everything here was simple but well made. Sansa sighed in relief.

She began to settle in for the night when Brienne’s voice came through the door.

“Lady Sansa? There’s someone here you should see.”

The door opened, and Jon walked in, a light snow still clinging to the shoulders of his cloak.

He opened his arms.

Sansa flew to him. She flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, her dress absorbing the remainder of the snow. He held her tightly. She pressed her face to his chest. She breathed in the smell of him, and she couldn’t help but think he smelled cold. It must have been the night air, still on his clothes.

  
“You must be starving, shall I send for some food?” Sansa asked him. Jon looked at her a moment, tilted his head back, and laughed.

  
“I haven’t seen you in years, our lives have been destroyed a hundred different ways since then, and the first thing you do is ask if I’d like some cheese and bread. No matter what, you’ll never forget your courtesies, will you Sansa?” Jon smiled at her.

  
“And you will never stop teasing me, will you?” She replied.

  
“No, never.” He sank into a chair, leaving the one closest to the fire for her. She sat across from him and reached for his hands. He pulled his gloves off and took her hands. His skin was freezing so she rubbed his hands between her own. “I’ve missed you, sweet brother.” Something flickered in his eyes. Perhaps it was because Sansa had rarely called him ‘brother’ during their childhood.

  
“And I have missed you. You’ve gotten even more beautiful.” He smiled at her.

  
“I know I’m not the sister you would wish to see.” Arya and Jon were the closest of all of them. They had none of the competition that Robb and Jon had, or the disdain Arya and Sansa shared.

  
“Don’t say that.” His eyes never hid his feelings, and now the light grey sky was clouded with sadness.

  
Sansa continued, “Jon, you need to know, Bran and Rickon are still alive. Theon confessed to me in Winterfell that he burned the bodies of two farm boys in their place. He thinks the wilding woman might have taken Rickon to Last Hearth. Brienne saw Arya in the Riverlands as well.”

  
Jon did not look as surprised as she would have thought. “If Rickon is with a wildling woman, he’s likely safe, wherever he is. Their women are fierce. If Arya was in the Riverlands maybe a house loyal to the Tullys is hiding her…but Bran. Sansa, one of my brothers saw Bran going north of the wall. The wight…Sansa, I don’t think we’ll see him again.” His voice strained with the weight of his words. Sansa nodded. In her heart, Sansa knew that Bran was lost to this world. Yet oddly, he was the lost sibling whose presence she felt most often.

  
“I know. In my heart, I know. I also know that we will find Rickon. We will find the lord of Winterfell," Sansa stated.

“When we do, every Northman from the Flints to the Manderlys will join our cause. It will be as if House Bolton never existed.” Jon looked as if he suddenly realized something. “Sansa, is there any chance that you’re pregnant?”

  
She shook her head. “I had my moonblood.” She smiled at the memory. Brienne found her bleeding and laughing hysterically and thought something terrible had happened. She told her it was the best thing that could have possibly happened.

  
“I’m going to give you his head,” Jon said darkly.

“I know you will sweet brother,” she replied.

“You keep calling me that," he noticed.

“I’m just so happy to one of my sweet brothers again," she said.  

“Sansa...there’s more. Uncle Benjen is still alive.” Jon paused to search Sansa’s face. Had she even heard the rumors of his death? Would news of a missing ranger reach her in King’s Landing or The Eerie? Would the death of a distant uncle even affect a girl who had seen her father’s head taken off?  
When her face remained unchanged, he continued.

“We spoke. He told me of a secret that he said Lord Eddard promised to take to his grave, but that he made no such promise. When Eddard tried to rescue Lyanna he found her dying in a bed of blood. She died giving birth. She died giving birth to me.”

  
Sansa stood abruptly and began to pace the room. She began to find small tasks to do around the room. She moved quickly from fluffing the pillows to pouring water in a basin, then decided against that and started stoking the fire.

“I just don’t understand…why would father do that to my mother? She was so ashamed, I just don’t understand. Jon, are you certain Uncle Benjen understood? Maybe he just didn’t understand. I don’t understand. Wait, Jon, if Lyanna was your mother, who was your father?”

"Rhaegar Targaryan.”

  
The name hung in the air for a moment. Then, Sansa fell to one knee, and whispered “Your Grace.”

Again, Jon tilted his head back and laughed. “You and your courtesies Sansa.” He stood and went to her, laughing “Arise, fair maiden,” and pulled her to her feet. “Father kept it a secret to keep the Baratheons or Lannisters from smashing my head against a wall. Now that Daenerys Targaryan has taken cities and hatched dragons, I’d like it kept a secret. I don’t she’d take kindly to her brother’s bastard and I don’t think I’d do well against a dragon.” Jon smiled but Sansa sensed something beneath it.

  
He led her to the bed and they sat, facing the fire. She kept toying with the edges of the fur until he took her hands to stop her. “It answers a hundred questions, and asks a thousand more. Why didn’t he ever tell my mother?”

  
Jon shrugged. “Perhaps he thought it would put her in danger.”

  
Sansa nodded. “Jon, I’m so sorry for the way she treated you…and I know I often took after her in that regard.”

  
Jon’s jaw hardened but he nodded. He stood. “I should let you sleep,” he said, moving towards the door. Sansa grabbed his sleeve. “Will you stay?”

  
“As you wish. There’s someone I have to let in though.” He moved to the door and opened it. The white fur slinked into the room as quiet as a shadow. Ghost went to Sansa and put his head in her lap. She gapped at the size of him…she hadn’t seen a direwolf since the inn at the cross roads. She stroked his head. “Lady,” she whispered. Ghost whined. “I know, I miss her too.”

  
When Ghost had contented himself with having his ears rubbed, he curled at the foot of the bed. Sansa suddenly remembered how tired she was as well. She began to undress, draping her torn, soaked, and dirty dress over a chair. Jon followed her and began to remove layers of fur. They were half undressed when they caught sight of each other. He wrapped his hand around her arm, thumb tracing half healed scars and yellow bruises. She gasped at the bright red scars that crisscrossed his chest. She’d heard of the mutiny at the Wall, but seeing the evidence of it was another matter entirely. They stood for a moment, taking an inventory of the damage that been done to them.

  
“Gods, Sansa—your feet!” Jon had suddenly noticed her bare feet.

  
When she’d jumped from the walls of Winterfell with Theon, she’d been wearing a lovely pair of thin leather shoes, perfect for leisurely strolls around the castle. They were not perfect for wading through rivers, hiking through snow, or running from dogs. Sansa’s feet were bruised and bloody.  Jon took the pitcher and basin. He sat Sansa in one of the chairs and kneeled before her. He poured water over her feet and let them soak in the basin. He gently dried them with a small linen that had been laid by the pitcher. Then he retrieved a small vial from somewhere in the depths of his cloak.

“The Red woman gave me this for my…cuts. It works well. In fact it heals skin more quickly than anything ought to.” He dabbed it onto her broken skin. When he looked up, she was crying. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  
“No,” Sansa smiled sweetly. “It’s the first time someone has touched me gently since father died.” Jon rinsed and dried his hands. He stood and kissed the top of Sansa’s head. “You should get some rest.”

  
She climbed into the bed and patted the space next to her. Jon sat awkwardly on top of the furs. “Don’t be ridiculous, get under the furs.” He got underneath and pulled the warm fur tightly around both of them.

  
She placed her hand on his chest. She meant it to comfort him, and to prove that his heart was still beating. She could feel his heart beat beneath her hand. She could also feel the freshness of his scars.

She murmured “I’m so sorry.”

  
He placed his hand over hers.

  
“The time is done for Starks to be sorry. The time has come for Starks to right the wrongs that have been done to them," Jon promised.

“We shall. We shall take back what is ours, my sweet…” Sansa wasn’t sure what to call him. Cousin? Prince?

“We will take what is ours, Jon.”

\-----  
It wasn’t long after breaking their fast on porridge and sausage that maps were rolled out and discussions began. Brienne and Davos were quickly arguing over strategy. Brienne cautioned against attacking a castle in the middle of winter. Davos urged that they had no choice.

The Mormonts told them of the plans that had been brewing in the North since the Red Wedding.

“Other than the Karstarks, there is no love for the Boltons in the North. Send word to the Mountain Clans, and we’ll attack from the west. Send word to White Harbor, and the Manderlys attack from the South.” Maege urged.

“This is unwise,” Brienne worried. “We could be stuck in a storm. The Boltons will hole up behind their walls, while we starve and freeze.”

“Winterfell was designed to protect humans from the Others. We need it. We need it back from the Boltons. We must take it, whatever the cost.” Jon said.

Sansa had remained quiet, listening to their thoughts. She finally spoke.

“Jon is right, but so is Brienne. If we’re caught outside of Winterfell, men will die by the thousands. We need to draw them out of the castle. We don’t even need to completely destroy their army. Ramsay’s hold on his men is weak at best. Once we have him, they will drop their swords as quickly as they can,” she stated.

That started a whole new round of discussion and arguments about how to draw them out of the castle. Plans were made, letters were written. They stopped only for beef and ale, and not much of either. Several days followed until it seemed they were able to agree.

That night, Jon collapsed into a chair in their chambers. It had become their custom to spend the evenings together.

Sansa laughed and poured some wine. “I thought Ser Davos was going to tear his hair out today.”

“If the Red Woman said anything else about her flames, he would have.”

Sansa offered Jon a cup of wine. He regarded her carefully. “We deserve it,” she said simply. She sat next to him.

“We do,” he took the wine and drank. They sat in front of the fire, laughing about their companions and advisors.

“A lady knight, an onion knight, a Red woman, a she-bear, and a squire who can’t talk. What a motley crew are we.”

“And a Targaryen prince.” Sansa giggled.

“And the most beautiful girl in the world.” Jon did not giggle but stared directly at Sansa.

“Don’t tease me, Jon.” Sansa smiled.

“I’m not teasing you Sansa. You’re beautiful.”

Jon threaded his hands through Sansa’s hair and kissed her. He pulled on her lips with his own and stroked them with his tongue. He pulled away, remembering everything that had been done to Sansa, and was disgusted with himself. “I’m so sorry, I never should have— ” Sansa got up and crossed over to Jon. She sat in his lap, and this time it was she who threaded her hands into his hair. They kissed desperately. Each of them was looking for something in the other. Sansa searched Jon for the affection she’d been missing for the past several years. Jon was looking for life itself inside of Sansa. He found it. He found life in her lips and mouth, her breathless sighs, her soft neck. He felt life pour into him through her touch.

He carried her to the bed. They pulled out of their clothes as quickly as possible. Each kiss, each touch, breathed more life back into Jon than all of the Red Woman’s spells. As it filled him, he grew stronger, but also greedier. He searched Sansa’s breasts and stomach for more of it. He knew where he would find even more of the beautiful, liquid life she poured into him. He spread her legs and licked her. She gasped. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I’m kissing you.” It felt strange to Sansa, not like his other kisses, but she soon discovered that was perfectly fine by her. He licked her dark red curls, her sweet lips, the curves of her thighs. When he found the round, pink bump, he did not let go of it until she collapsed around him. He curled back up to her. He slipped his fingers inside of her. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Gods yes,” she moaned. Her hand traveled to his cock. “I want you inside of me,” she moaned into his ear.

Jon tried to show restraint. As he climbed between her legs, he asked “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She looked directly at him with those large blue eyes.

He slipped into her.

Nothing else mattered to Sansa in that moment. There was no Winterfell, there was no Eerie, there was no Westeros. There was only Jon’s breath and only Jon’s skin. Her hands clutched his back as he pulled in and out of her. He bent his head to devour her neck and she was thrilled to be devoured.

Jon kept finding more life with each thrust. When he’d found the parts of himself he’d lost, he began to find new ones. He found them all over Sansa.

She began to tighten against him as he thrust. Her breath became heavier. She curled and twisted beneath him. Her pleasure surprised both her and Jon, and once she lost control, he could not hold on. He collapsed into her.

They lay like that some time, Sansa on her back, Jon collapsed between her legs. She ran her fingers up and down his back, feeling the sweat that had pooled in the small of it. The enormity of what they had just done settled on them. They knew they had just taken an irreversible step.

“Jon,” Sansa whispered.

“Yes?”

“We have a war to fight,” she said, her fingers still tracing shapes on his back.

“I know,” Jon murmured. In his bones, in his skin, in his heart, he knew. He knew much of the war to come.

Sansa moved her lips to his ear, kissing it sweetly, and said, “We had better win.”


End file.
